


Understanding in Miracles

by cruxcantare



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Horror Elements, M/M, Memory Loss, Mystery, Sam Wilson Birthday Bang, unexplained phenomena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 12:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20760074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruxcantare/pseuds/cruxcantare
Summary: James might not be able to remember anything beyond the last week, but when Sam smiles at him like that, something tells James to trust him. What he doesn't trust are the people who seem to be watching them both now.





	Understanding in Miracles

**Author's Note:**

> The gorgeous art was done by the wonderful CherryBlake and I won't fault you if you skip right to it at the end notes

James had no doubt the other people on the farm must have hated him.

They didn’t know much about him, of course, other than he had one arm and he didn’t have much to say. They had nothing much to say to him either. James did his work; James went home. Sometimes, James walked his big white dog Pax; very rarely, his coworkers caught him washing said dog. Life was routine for him. James ate whatever he had in his fridge, mixing it all in a bowl over a boiled bag of Uncle Ben’s.

It was the nights as they were now, however, that made James sure they hated him. James woke up screaming. Drenched in sweat, sheets attempting to strangle his limbs. His mouth remained open even when the screaming stopped, mind racing to try to catch up to what exactly it was that made him react like that. 

His dog eventually jumped on the bed to cuddle in, but James was too gross to cuddle into Pax. Depending on the severity of his headache, James might take a shower, but he usually just kicked off the blankets and let the breeze calm him down. His eyes remained on the door, waiting for the inevitable worried eyes to appear in his doorway. Having a guest after all this time alone should feel strange, but when James saw that man in his doorway, suddenly it was all easier.

“You okay?”

A small nod. Even in the dark, he could make out the man’s body. Or maybe he’d just learned it so fully in so short a time he could imagine him there, in James’ own clothes, shorts that fit a little too tight around the hips. He’d barely been in his life, yet circumstances made James feel as if he’d known him far longer than he has.

“You remember anything this time?”

James wished he could remember.

James wished he could remember a lot of things.

***

It was a weird thing, to remember a week but not the memories that built the man he was. James could see a routine, but not what brought him to the farm in the first place. James could see his dog, but not what made him pick such a large furry friend, or even his name Pax. James couldn’t remember his own name at first, something he hadn’t thought about or heard in the sole week of memories he had available to him.

It had been like the other days he remembered. If he didn’t only recall so few, he was positive the day would have been a blur to him, another routine day on the farm. James did his work. James walked his dog.

It had been Pax who found him. Pax, in James’ memory, kept close, kept quiet. James’ attention wasn’t even on his dog, but on the burnt orange sun. The blades of grass seemed to have a halo; the water nearby was a nice pink color. He couldn’t see anyone else and he kind of liked that. The world was beautiful, uncomplicated, quiet.

A low, throaty growl broke James out of his slow walk. “Pax?”

The dog’s eyes were focused on the water. The growl turned into a loud bark, and suddenly, Pax broke out into a run.

“Pax, to me.” James called, but the dog ignored his call. His eyes squinted, trying to make out whatever it was that had Pax so ornery. “Pax?” His walk turned into a jog, hoping that it wasn’t a skunk again. Getting the stink out of his fur took four days worth of washing.

James saw the legs first. Dark, bare legs. His feet were splayed out, one leg in the water, one out. James was sure he saw something white but the more he tried to put shape to it, the harder it was to see them. His legs were still moving forward. Any words caught in his throat, a small bone he couldn’t cough out. There was a buzzing in his ears, in his body, and it felt like his head was splitting open.

He remembered his fingers sliding along a strong body. There was blood. He knows that for sure, but he had no idea where it was coming from. James couldn’t focus. The smell was overwhelming, much like everything else, and James had no idea what was wrong with him.

Suddenly, fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“No, no. Look in my eyes. Just look at my eyes.”

It was the kindest voice James ever heard.

“Look at my eyes. Please.”

They were so brown, between long lashes. The order was powerful, but even if it wasn’t, James didn’t think he could look anywhere else.

“Stay with me. I’m so sorry.”

***

James woke up screaming for the first time.

There was no reason for it. All he could remember were those round, brown eyes. And the more he remembered the circumstances around that chance meeting… the pain, the blur of his senses, the _ blood _… the more he realized that there was someone in danger, and he somehow was somewhere else.

His eyes searched around the room. He was… home. This was his room. The Spartan decoration didn’t give much away about which of the rooms in the house he was in, but that was his bag sitting by the door, his view out the window. He’d woken up to that view every day since…

Since.

James bolted up, blinking. It just wasn’t there anymore. He could remember the last week—he’d gone to work, he walked his dog, he went home. He mixed whatever was in the fridge with Instant Rice. Yet everything that made up who he was before last Monday was just… gone. He would later know his name was James; it said James on his check, on his ID, on his mailbox.

“I am so sorry.”

And for the first time, in his doorway, there was Sam. He didn’t know for sure his name was Sam; the way Sam introduced himself later that day came with a pause, as if he was trying to decide on the best lie to tell him. He also still didn’t know where exactly was the wound that made the blood. He did, however, know one thing: Sam looked much better in James’ clothes than James ever did. The burgundy shirt, the jeans that fit much tighter on Sam than they did on James. The jeans were a little too long, resting on his bare feet. James liked that sight a little too much.

He had no clue how he was around people he was attracted to before, but he hopes he was better than this.

“Your dog’s asleep. No thanks to the screaming, of course, but he’s on some blankets in your living room.”

“What happened?”

Sam smiled. His eyes caught a small gap in his teeth for the first time.

“I wish I could tell you more. All I can say is you tried to help me.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll get there.” Sam walked to the bed and sat next to him. It made James straighten up. “Are you okay?”

No.

“I think I am. For now.”

***

James asked if Sam had somewhere else to go, and Sam said no.

“Once I’m better, I’ll be able to go home.” What exactly was wrong with him, James couldn’t tell. He looked perfect.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s hard to explain. I just need a few days or so to heal and then I’ll go back home.”

James thought about asking where home was, but then again, he didn’t know where anything outside of his routine was anymore.

“What brought you here?”

“Business. Ugly business. Not exactly a great trip for me.”

James was ashamed to think _ it couldn’t have been so bad _. Of course, it was. James found him covered in blood. And yet… Sam was here with him now. Sam was safe with him.

James hadn’t invited him to stay, but James hadn’t necessarily kicked him out either. No, instead what James did was put a sheet over the couch and left a pillow and some blankets out for Sam. His mind argued about the situation the whole time. Somehow, he’d gone to help Sam and yet he was the one who passed out, who’d lost about thirty-eight years, if his ID is to be believed. Sam was clearly lying to him or omitting the truth. And yet… he trusted Sam entirely. Sam needed his help, and every logical argument against that was hopeless against that truth.

“Thank you.” James turned and looked at him. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”

It took too long a time to figure out the right words in response, and James hoped he didn’t look like an idiot. “You’ll trust me eventually.”

***

Maybe it was because James’ screaming woke Sam up _ again _ or his own early routine, but James woke up before Sam. The sun illuminated the house well enough that James didn’t need to fumble with a light switch. Instead, he started doing some investigating. His sparse lifestyle led to very few reminders of his life—no pictures, no knick knacks, nothing without specific purpose. He did, however, find a flip phone stashed in a drawer.

James flopped back onto the bed, opening the phone with the flick of a thumb. The basic wallpaper immediately flashed, showing options for call on the right, and text on the left. The list of contacts was as Spartan as his bedroom. He’d hoped for a parent, or a sibling, or someone who had more information about him and his history. Instead, he was greeted with contacts like “Lang- Thursdays and Saturdays” and “Supervisor”. The backlog of texts illuminated one thing: that when James was asked to take over a shift, he responded with a curt “sure”, and the conversation ended there. The most recent one was in a group message, from Supervisor, without any responses.

_ I’m sure you’ve all heard what happened. If anyone needs time off, please call me privately. _

If James knew what happened, he would have remembered it, he thought. Reaching out about it seems morbid. If he was going to keep this job, he should have called, but he didn’t want to pretend it was about… whatever this was. Nor does he want to explain about Sam. Amnesia seemed as good an excuse as any, but it would just lead to more explanations James cannot give. All he can think about is his new houseguest, whoever he is, standing in the doorway in James’ own clothes.

The thought of Sam makes him go to the living room, careful steps. He didn’t want to wake the man or his dog.

That’s when he saw the scars.

Pax had moved from the makeshift bed to sleep next to the couch. Right above him, Sam was curled up on the couch, face towards the cushions, knees slightly bent. He wasn’t wearing the shirt anymore, the blanket settled around his legs. The scars called attention in a position like that. They weren’t fresh looking. Crescent, mouth like scars from the corners of his shoulders, rounding next to his spine and sliding towards his hips. He could imagine them opening but thinking about what would come out made him shiver. His eyes remained on them far too long, trying to imagine what could make those. Maybe that’s why Sam couldn’t tell him anything. Maybe he was scared.

Pax’s heavy steps made James look away. He sat, expectantly, staring up at James. James put a finger to his mouth and then nodded towards the door. Sam needed rest, and they could get away from him for a little.

Once Pax went at least twice, he let the big guy jump into his truck. James couldn’t just serve Sam instant rice and whatever was in the fridge. He scratched behind Pax’s ear and hoped his memory of drives to the commissary would serve him well.

“It’s just ten minutes.”

Pax licked his hand in response. It was all the encouragement he needed. In his mind, he could picture a week’s worth of meals and what he needed to make them.

***

James couldn’t say for certain that he was being watched at first.

A red haired woman was standing at the corner by the freezers, staring down towards where James was. She was short, curvy, her hair straight down to her shoulders. What she was wearing must’ve helped in the cold meat aisle but was entirely inappropriate for the heat outside. James looked behind him but saw only the exit; if there was someone else, he would have seen them. He picked up a package of beef chunks, carefully dropping it into a basket by his feet. He broke eye contact to pick up the cart, and when he was upright again, she was still staring. 

“I’m not stealing,” James lifted up the red basket. “Promise. Going to the register now.”

Her eyebrows grew closer together but she said nothing. James nodded before leaving. Somehow, he was sure that she was still watching, that what he said wasn’t enough to quell whatever interest she had in him.

*******

The thing about losing most of his life was, James didn’t know what was strange and should be normal, or what was just plain strange anymore. However, something about the beat coming out of his house felt alien. More so than the beautiful, secretive man who’d taken up residence in his house. It was a pulse, the man singing sounded both sad and strong. As the words became clearer, the song made James feel the same.

Pax ran in first, and James watched as his dog ran straight to the kitchen. The house smelled different too, and James’ stomach rumbled. He’d followed both his dog and his nose, the grocery bag pressed close to his chest, watching as the dog settled at the legs of the table. Inches away from where Sam was seated, fork in hand. There was a plate of fluffy eggs in the middle of his table, and a smaller one in front of Sam that he was eating from. The business with the red haired woman—whatever that all was—was nothing compared to Sam beating him to the punch on breakfast. The pan in the kitchen was already washed, sitting overturned on the stove. He’d even cleaned up after himself.

“You made yourself at home.”

That grin, the small gap in his front teeth, made James’ heart flip. 

“I’m sorry. I saw your radio and I couldn’t help it. It’s been so long.”

“Since you listened to music?”

“My parents’ house was always filled with music. Both my parents loved to sing, but my mother loved it. I used to wake up to the sound of her singing as she cleaned the floor.”

It was an avoidance, and James could figure it out, but the tidbit was more than he’d gotten in a while. “Can’t I call her to help you?” He’d figured out the answer to his question as he was done, and Sam’s shoulders fell just to confirm it.

“She passed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

He had just enough sense to swallow _ dad too? _ If Sam was here, in a stranger’s clothes, he must’ve been alone. Truly alone.

“They’re a little cold but a couple seconds in the microwave should do it some good.” Sam’s eyes flickered over the eggs. “Come eat.”

James walked to the table, setting down the bag atop it. Looking over the meal in front of him. “You didn’t have to.”

“It wasn’t about having to, it was about wanting to. You’ve been good to me.”

It was James’ turn to grin at that. 

***

James insisted on cooking dinner.

Spending the day with Sam was incredible, when he could forget the circumstances around their meeting. Sam wasn’t forthcoming with what was happening right then, but what happened before and especially how he _ was feeling _ was a different story. Sam sang with any song he recognized, until he was breathing heavily and apologizing. James had been too transfixed to realize it at first, and each time, James promised it was okay. He was the one who should have apologized, sure that eventually Sam would call him out for staring.

He never did.

A hot meal was small penance.

“Can I ask you something?”

Sam’s mouth had been full, so he just nodded.

“What… happened to me? I get that you can’t tell me a lot about you, but can you tell me what happened to me?”

Sam swallowed. His hand went to his ear, a small scratch. James half expected another avoidance. “Sometimes, it’s a small blessing, to forget. You saw something you weren’t meant to.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“When you tried to help me. It’s hard to explain. Some of your memories may come back, but it won’t be the same. What you saw… it’s enough to wipe your head completely.”

“You told me to look in your eyes.”

“You just wanted to help me. I didn’t want to… you didn’t deserve to lose yourself because you were kind.”

“But it didn’t wipe your memory. Just mine.”

Sam didn’t have to respond. So whatever happened to James, and whatever happened to Sam, they weren’t the same thing. The puzzle pieces didn’t fit; he didn’t have a full picture to work off, border pieces, _ anything. _

“I know it's unfair, what I’m asking. I wouldn’t if I had another choice. I really shouldn’t be doing this to you at all...”

“Please don’t go.” James wasn’t sure of much, but he was sure of whatever pull he felt to Sam. Those brown eyes were on his again, and like he did when his life got pulled out from under him, he felt safe. “I mean, you can stay as long as you need to. I wouldn’t… be able… to live with myself if something happened to you.”

“That’s the thing.” Sam’s fork pushed around the rice on his plate. “I’m starting to get afraid something might happen to you.”

***

James woke up again, screaming. He must have dreamed, but he couldn’t remember any of it. His throat tightened and he clawed at it, looking to release whatever was choking him. There was nothing.

Sam said it was a small blessing to forget, but James wondered if this was it all trying to come back.

Pax came first, jumping into the bed. The big dog settled by his body, James absentmindedly petting him. Sam followed, settling at the door but not coming any further.

“If you’re too shaken to go back down, you can come sit with me. I can put on the television.”

That sounded perfect.

“You should rest,” James said instead.

Sam stared at him for a moment. “You sure?”

James nodded, and even though it was a lie, Sam accepted it. He guesses if anyone understands a little white lie, it's Sam. Sam turned around, and even in the darkness, James could make out those scars. They were grinning at him, taunting him with the knowledge of whatever hurt the man they graced. Taunting him with the knowledge that, eventually, Sam would have to leave. Leave him, leave him alone again.

The James he forgot was used to that, but the James he became? He wasn’t ready for a life post Sam.

*** 

Pax running out into the dawn didn’t have the joy it should have.

James’ throat hurt from the screaming. He sat in bed for a while, just trying to remember what could have happened. He was much more concerned about the dreams than his entire history, and judging by the stare of his closest neighbor—a middle aged man with dark hair,—so was he.

James had hoped his mailbox contained something to jog his memory, but inside there were only fliers from restaurants. Fried chicken, pizza, Chinese food. They didn’t even have his name on them; they were just addressed to “Current Resident.” He could laugh at himself. He was just _ current resident. _

The big man stared at him long before he approached.

He was muscular, blonde, the kind of guy who didn’t look too out of place on a farm like this. There was an intensity there that had James on edge though. He had no doubt this man didn’t belong. “Pax, to me.” The big white dog bounded over at the order, and James reached down and petted him. Having something to do, he’d hoped, would hide his own nerves.

“Jesus, Buck. Is everything okay?”

James stared at him.

“You’re scaring Natasha.”

That name meant nothing to James. “I’m sorry?”

The man’s eyebrows knit closer together. “You found him, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” James’ head automatically filled Sam’s name into _ him _ and he was unsure what to think. The actual rescue was a blur, but sometimes it was as if he could still smell the blood. So much blood.

“Come on Buck, you have to give me something. Did you find him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spat. “I haven’t found anyone.”

“Bucky.”

James shook his head. He wanted to yell, who the hell is _ Bucky _, but at the same time he thought that would give this man more information than he wanted to give. Not when Sam was safe. The blonde man was bad business if he’d ever seen it. “I’m sorry, but you’ve got it wrong.”

“Bucky, I saw him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And he was certain this man will follow, he was certain this man will continue talking to _ Bucky _, but James won’t hear it. He made two loud kissing noises and Pax followed. He tried to listen for any following steps, trying to keep himself from looking back. He wouldn’t go back while he was still there, but the farm was large enough to get lost in. It felt like last week’s James, him and Pax enjoying the quiet. 

A place like this didn’t have too many hiding spots at least.

James started toward the water, thinking about the last time he and Pax went here. If Pax remembered the trauma, he didn’t show it, and James half wondered if it could have wiped his mind too. If Pax knew James better than James knew himself anymore.

What happened here?

James looked to the left, and right, trying to imagine which direction Sam must’ve came from. Did he run naked? Did he know how he got here?

Where did he bleed from?

James walked along the bank, unsure where exactly he found Sam. This place used to feel so familiar, and yet, Sam’s place among it created a fog that he couldn’t push through. That was the one memory from the past week that felt incomplete, or maybe what he experienced was fragmented in the first place.

All he saw was Sam, and the… _ something. _

Something white.

He stopped, unsure of what he saw. The stem was white, the vane wet. And yet it remained motionless, more a rock that something that should have floated away. James knelt down and his fingers brushed against it to determine if it was real. He pinched it between his thumb and his forefinger, carefully picking it up.

It was a feather.

*******

“I’ve been thinking.” The feather felt like a weight with Sam’s eyes on him. It was silly, but all James could think about was the white. It was what he saw before it all went to shit, something white, something beautiful. The more he tried to concentrate on it, the more he just saw his dog, and it was enough to make him think he may have been mistaken. Except. It was all James had, an answer to a question James didn’t have yet. “I mean, I don’t really remember if I liked any of the restaurants around here, but I could spare you my cooking for one night.”

Sam smiles. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not while I’m healing.”

Pax settled in front of Sam on the couch,and James couldn’t help but smile. He thought of mentioning the big blonde man, the one who asked if he _ found _ someone, but then he thought the truth would make Sam bolt. He couldn’t risk it. Sam would be safer here, with him. 

“You can stay as long as you need to.”

“I appreciate that. Promise I won’t be here for long.”

James’ chest thumped. He only had a week of life before Sam, and the longer Sam was here, the harder it was to picture going back to it. How long had James worked on the farm, just with his dog? People weren’t all Sam.

“I can order a pizza.”

Sam laughed. “Haven’t had pizza in a long time.”

It took an hour for it to get there, but James didn’t notice. While James set out food for Pax, Sam found a deck of cards, a little worn, and James supposed at one time he must have known how to play. He’d admitted to Sam as much and Sam taught him a game called Spit, which as soon as James got the gist, became increasingly competitive. Sam seemed a little wary at first with James’ arm, but James really supposed he must have known how to play once, and well. After his third loss, Sam stopped taking it easy on him, and it devolved into a tangle of arms and laughter. The slam of their hands on the table was enough to drown out the knock on the door. It was insistent by the time James got up.

Sam cleared the table while James paid, bringing in the box. He couldn’t stop smiling to himself, and his awareness just made it worse, cheeks sore from how happy he was.

“Anything come back yet?”

“Maybe to my hand.” James folded his slice before taking a bite. “I don’t know, I went looking for clues but found none. Maybe this is who I was.”

“You had to have a family at one point, right? I don’t want you to lose them forever.”

“If I did maybe they’ll come looking for me. No pictures, no texts, no mail. Not looking good on that front.”

“That’s a shame. We were big on family when I was little. Made a lot of foolish decisions for family.”

James learned, over the course of eight slices, that Sam had two siblings, whose names he gave more readily than his own. A sister and a brother with names too generic to hope to learn more about Sam from them, a brother and sister who were already dead like Sam’s parents. His father had been a church man; his mother worked with books. They’d been poor, but they had each other. Sam didn’t say where they lived, or how long he’d been without them. James didn’t want to ask.

After they’d cleaned Sam started playing with his radio again, taking fifteen minutes to find the perfect song. If it was too slow, it was out. If it was aggressive, Sam just shook his head and said “not tonight.” Maybe it was the honesty from before that made Sam feel the need to be particular. Sam’s choices made James tap his feet, lively music about being in love and being alive. But from where he was sitting, the best thing was how it made Sam react. If Sam knew the lyrics, he sang along. Even if he didn’t, his entire body seemed to sing along, from his head down to his hips.

James wondered what would happen when Sam was ready to leave, when he was better from whatever this was. Would they see each other again? Did Sam even want to see him again, or would he just remember James as someone who was kind to him once upon a time?

“Hey.”

James looked up.

“Come here.”

He couldn’t help but obey. James wasn’t sure if he was much of a dancer before, but the feeling of Sam’s hands on his waist was enough to give it a shot.

*** 

With less than fourteen nights in his head, James couldn’t say beyond a doubt that this was the best night of his life, but he was anyway. Whoever he was before, if he had anything comparable to this, he was a fool for letting it go.

They’d given up dancing at the same time, James falling back onto his couch, Sam laughing and easing down next to him. Pax was not too far away, lying on his belly in the doorway, completely relaxed. All James could hear was their breaths. Their eyes locked and for a moment, all James could think about was that moment, the giant hole that was there from when he found Sam. 

“What’s home like?”

Sam shook his head. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

“Yeah you do. But curiosity isn’t bad. I’ve asked a lot of you these past few days, and given you little in return.”

James wanted to to say that Sam had done more than enough for him, but instead he stood, transfixed, watching Sam ‘s hand reach for the knot in the shirt, next to his left shoulder.

“It must be strange, not knowing what took your arm from you.”

James shrugged. He hadn’t given it much thought. “I don’t even remember having it anymore.”

“I think about who I used to be a lot. What it would be like to lose those memories like you have. Sometimes it feels like they’re all I have.”

“Couldn’t tell you.” James couldn’t miss what he didn’t know, he thought, though to say that to Sam while he was so reflective felt strange. Half of him wanted to pull him up again into a dance. Something to remove that regret from his face.

Instead, his arm reached around, pulling Sam into an embrace. Sam sucked in a breath but didn’t push away, instead leaning into him.

“Seemed like the right thing to do. Too much?”

James could feel Sam shaking his head against his chest. “No, this is nice. I believe it’s the best thing you can do.”

“This is the best thing I do?”

“What I meant was, affection is the best thing we do. Beings on Earth. There’s a real magic to being in service to someone else.”

James liked the idea. His hand skimmed down his closest shoulder. He could feel the raised skin underneath the material of his own shirt, quietly moving his fingers along it. He could imagine them now, those cruel smiles. He’d remembered Sam’s fingers along the knot on his shirt when he blurted it out.

“Can I ask about the scars?”

Sam looked up at him, eyebrows up. James was close enough to see every change on his face. “The scars?”

James could have kicked himself. “The ones on your back… if it’s not my business its fine, I’m sorry.”

“You see scars? Interesting.” It was James’ turn to be confused. “Usually it’s shirts. Changes with the fashion, but usually I get shirts. Sometimes a backpack, more and more people see tattoos. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten scars.”

“You ever going to answer a question in a way that makes sense?”

Sam almost nuzzled him, and James held him tighter, as if that affection was enough to banish the question. “It gets worse, the more you know. Then you become all too aware of what you don’t know.”

Impulse ran through again. James wanted to kiss his neck, could imagine the warmth there. Instead, he traced one of the scars, to prove to himself it was there. “All I know is what I don’t know.” He pressed his head against Sam’s. “And you.”

James didn’t remember falling asleep, but he’ll always remember waking up screaming, Sam’s face on his chest. Sam’s head shot up, brown eyes full of concern.

“I’m sorry,” James panted.

“No. I am.”

That whisper could break his heart.

“I’ll go to my bed, let you sleep.”

***

James didn’t have to wait long in the day for his next visitor. It had been dawn, another round of screaming that blissfully didn’t wake Sam. And yet, after their nap together, going to bed without him took forever. He kept thinking back to the couch, how close they’d gotten. _ Affection is the best thing we do _, Sam said, and he kept thinking about it until he’d finally fell back asleep. This time, the affection came from Pax. He wouldn’t even leave the house anymore if it weren’t for his furry friend, and yet somehow, these people seemed to know it. Seemed to be waiting for him.

“Red or the big guy approach you yet?”

James stopped. He didn’t call Pax back, letting him continue to stretch his legs. He walked slowly around to the other side of his truck. The man leaning against it wasn’t someone he remembered either. He definitely didn’t have the look of someone who worked there, the all black outfit screaming someone inexperienced with the sun. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Thought you might be a little loopy. Happens to most people who see one of them in their full glory. How much can you remember?”

James’ fingers scratched at his palm. He didn’t know how he knew that; he didn’t know what to say. His eyes darted to the house, and he wondered how fast he can get in there.

“Hey, Bucky, it’s alright. I’m here to help.”

_ Bucky _. That’s what the big guy called him.

“Look, my name is Brock. And I know it's hard to believe now, but you and me were a team.” The man—_ Brock— _digs in his pocket and pulls out a white feather. James swallows. The very sight makes the all too similar one sitting firm against his waist feel like its burning. “You made a good decision, not trusting anyone. There’s a lot of people who want to hurt our new friend. I just want to help him get home, same as you.”

_ Home _ . Just the way Sam said it, a nebulous _ home _. It was a slip, but that was enough for James to take a leap. “How do you know about Sam?”

A small, breathy snicker. It seemed mocking to James. “Sam. That’s what he told you his name was? Sam?” Brock leaned in. “Did _Sam_ tell you why he came here? Did _Sam_ tell you what they did to him, what they want to do to him?”

James shook his head. His gaze went back to the house, and he could imagine Sam playing with Pax on his floor.

“They know you have him too. That’s why they’re watching you. They want to finish what they started.”

***

“I need you to be honest with me.”

The truth is, James wasn’t sure he was going to say it until he did. It would be easy to pretend that Brock didn’t happen, like he pretended that the redhead and the big guy didn’t happen. It would be easy to go back to getting to know the only person who seemed to matter. But the words _ they want to finish what they started _ were beginning to grip at his insides, twisting them until he spoke.

“I already told you, I can’t…”

“I know. I know.” James held up his hand. “Just, give me this. Are you being _ chased? _”

“James…”

“Please. You’ve been wearing my clothes all this time, I’m not stupid, but are people actively chasing you?”

Sam took a breath. “If they know I’m here, I have to go. You were approached, weren’t you?”  
“Yeah.”

“You should have told me.” The strange thing was, Sam didn’t sound accusatory. His eyes closed and he exhaled again. “How many?”

James hoped he meant people and not times; he couldn’t bear disappointing him further. “Three.”

“Describe them to me.”

James described them in order: the redhead who didn’t speak, the big guy who spoke kindly but insisted he saw Sam, Brock, who told him the other two were coming after him. If it was clear to Sam that James saw them three separate times, he didn’t say. He just nodded along.

“Did the other two suggest they knew what I look like?”

“No.”

“Still, your big guy could just share that information I guess.” Sam scratched his beard. “It's too dangerous for me to stay here with you.”

“Where will you go?”

Sam shrugged. “Less I tell you the better anyway.”

“No.”

“James.”

“Sam, I can’t… they’re outnumbering you, right? I don’t think it’s smart for you to leave alone.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You don’t let me understand. And I’m okay with that, really, I’ve believed everything you told me. Except this. Let me help you.”

“You can lose a lot more than your memories if you tried.”

“I’ll risk it to know you were safe. How much longer until you’re healed?”

“I don’t know. I’d say I’m most of the way there.”

“Good.” James placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder. Rubbing his skin, something that perhaps was more comforting to James than Sam. “Do you trust me?”

A pause.

“I do.”

“Then at least let me drive you somewhere.”

***

James didn’t remember his relationship with his neighbor at all, but from what little he grasped about himself, he figured it was nonexistent. No opinion, though, had to be a good opinion in this scenario. 

While Sam placed food in a bag, James collected Pax’s belongings. A leash, dog food, his bowls. James unable to explain to his only companion that he was leaving, but then again, he would have to explain it to his neighbor as well.

James knocked on the door, uneasy over whether or not he was making the right move, but something told him that if Pax came with him, something might happen to his best friend. And while James didn’t mind taking the risk, his dog shouldn’t have to.

“Barnes?” He’d heard the words before the door opened. His neighbor was already in long pajama pants and a matching shirt. “Oh and your giant cloud! How you doing buddy?” The man scratched Pax behind the ear. “If this is about Barton, she’s not upset you haven’t formally called out. She just didn’t realize you’d be so affected. I told her about the screaming… I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have done that, not without telling you first, but I wanted to make sure she knew you weren’t just ditching work.”

James recalled the text he saw. A breath. He didn’t want to give away just how little information he had.

“His parents came yesterday, you know. Gathered his things. I don’t know if you saw them.”

Oh. 

Oh shit.

James nodded, although who he was supposed to be mourning was beyond him. He wondered why he’d been given such a wide berth. “Are you okay?”

“Surviving as best as I can. My ex was going to bring my daughter over a couple days ago but you know, she felt weird about it. Can’t say I blame her, the whole farm’s got a weird vibe. Think she’s comfortable enough to let her stay now, but I don’t know. I can’t afford a hotel. Just want to see my girl again.”

The amount of detail was staggering, compared to what he’d gotten the last week out of Sam.

“I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“Um sure. No problem. You’ve covered my ass enough times. It’s like you live to work on this farm, I was just telling Luis how you never seemed to pass up the possibility for another shift…”

Even a stranger knew more about James than James. “I’ve got to go for a couple days. I was wondering if you could take care of Pax.”

“Is that the giant cloud’s name? I’d love to take care of Pax.” He kneeled down and started petting him. “I’ve wanted to touch the giant cloud _ forever _, you have no idea, he’s softer than I thought he’d be too…” Pax responded well to that, nuzzling his hand. “Me and some of the guys wanted to send flowers, but we weren’t sure they’d make it on time. Let us know if they do, all right?”

He thought it was for the funeral. James took a moment to think about this nameless person, this person who’d managed to die just as Sam came into his life. 

“I will. Thank you.”

James placed the bag down by the door, and hoped he’d be back to pick it all up. His hand rested on Pax.

He was really soft, and James was going to miss him.

“Just a couple days,” James said.

That could have been a lie.

***

Sam was packing clothes when James came back. Extra shirts, extra underwear and socks. It occurred to James that he’d never seen Sam wear shoes before, but James recognized the brown work boots on his feet. He was surprised they shared a size there too.

James knew he had no reason to trust Sam. James knew he didn’t know a lot about Sam. James knew a lot of things didn’t add up, but then again, they didn’t add up about him either. And if he stood by Sam, he knew it would, eventually, make sense. Everything made sense when he was with Sam.

“You ready?”

Sam turned only his head around. “As ready as I’m going to be. Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay?”

James’ hand found Sam’s shoulder again. He could imagine those scars on Sam’s back beneath his own shirt, mocking him.

“It’s going to be a long couple of days if you keep asking.”

***

“Your friend’s truck is gone.”

It was strange, after all this time alone, how true that word was. _ Friend. _ Steve had assumed he’d never see Bucky again, and suddenly, here he was. Steve could remember a time he couldn’t step foot on a farm like this, the allergens threatening to ruin his entire week. But the sunrises, he could get used to. Sitting on a porch, seeing the dew on the grass, the colors the sun was capable of? Unbeatable.

Then there was Natasha’s body, blocking it all. The light was a halo on her. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d say she looked angelic. She was short enough that, despite sitting, Steve didn’t have to look up too much at her face. Natasha was a big fan of her subtle manipulations, and Steve had dealt with her long enough to know that she didn’t need the satisfaction.

Natasha studied his face a little too long for his liking. Anyone who knew her like Steve did could guess what she was after; she always gave enough rope for someone to hang themselves. “Find what you’re looking for?” Steve asked.

“Don’t get smart now. Not when your friend is cutting us out.”

“Bucky’s not cutting us out.”

“So, you know where he went? You know where he’s taking our guy?”

Steve frowned in response. His fingers drummed against the porch. He didn’t know where Bucky’s head was. Their conversation bore no insight into why Bucky hadn’t checked in with them, especially once Bucky found _ him _.

Before he could formulate a response, Natasha kept pressing. “You don’t think he went in with Rumlow on this, do you?”

“If he went in with Rumlow, we’d know.”

Natasha’s arms crossed over her chest. “Steve, this was our chance. If your friend ruins it, I’ll kill him myself. Maybe you too; haven’t decided yet.”

Steve shrugged. It was a fair response. They’d waited a long time for this; they’d followed all the signs, all in hopes that they’d find one. Steve had caught a brief sight of him in the window, hoping to confirm their hopes by catching the telltale lie on his back. The man had closed the blinds before Steve could be certain, but he knew in his gut. Bucky found one of them. “Bucky’s not going to betray us.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/184628946@N03/48787842073/in/dateposted-public/)   



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